


A Thread Breaking: Cheerless Again

by JessicaX



Series: Cheerless Saga [4]
Category: Sabrina the Teenage Witch (TV)
Genre: Band Fic, Community: femmeslash, Concerts, Drama & Romance, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, Gen, Goths, Internal Conflict, Making Out, New York City, POV Bisexual Character, POV Female Character, POV First Person, Teen Angst, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaX/pseuds/JessicaX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[CHEERLESS SAGA, Book 4/6] It's a new year for Libby Chessler, and all she wants is to focus on university and her boyfriend - but she can't forget the girl she left behind. To make matters worse, someone new is going to enter her life... and complicate it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ew Year's Resolution

_Prologue_

> _"Sabrina,_
> 
> _What I have to say is so important that simple words aren't going to cut it, but every time I try to tell you any other way it doesn't work. Even now, something I mean to say will get left out, or something I DON'T mean to say will slip out. Can't blame a girl for trying, though, right?_
> 
> _You are my absolute best friend. This may come as some surprise to you - hell, it flat-out blew me away - but somehow it's true. Nobody has ever cared about me the way you do, because most people just don't seem to have the boundless capacity for compassion that you have. It's like, your soul runs deeper than anybody's should, and there are more facets to it, in an almost inhuman fashion. How does that work? You really are a freak, and every day I learn a little more about what that means and how wrong I was for thinking it was anything less than admirable._
> 
> _Fact is, I miss hanging out with you. Remember that day we spent all day at Westbridge Bowl shooting pool, and those annoying guys hit on us? I'll never figure out where you got that plate of nachos from, but the losers wore them well, I think (ha ha!) Stupid crap like that. Funny how you and I were still more or less bitter enemies, and yet I'd give anything to go back to that... to go back to squabbling over that damn perfume project, just because it'd mean we wouldn't be living so far apart._
> 
> _Anyway, I'm running out of room on this page, and I don't want to write over anybody else's signatures, so I'd better cut this short - kinda ridiculous to be babbling like this in your yearbook, huh? I'm sorry - about that and every other despicable thing I ever did to you in the past. If there's anything you deserve it's kindness and respect, and I can only hope you get more of that in the future. Even so, when I look back on those days in the halls of Westbridge, you'll always be my little freak - the thorn in my paw who not only kept my ego in check, but could always add spice to an otherwise lame day._
> 
> _Classmates Forever,  
>  Libby Chessler_
> 
> _P.S.: Mr. Kraft actually signed this? Ew!"_

* * *

_Chapter 1: Ew Year's Resolution_

Noise. It was all noise; happy noises, jealous noises, noises that held no emotion whatsoever. Tittering, and shouting and clanking and cheesy music- all of it rubbed me the wrong way. It was enough to make me retch, and I wanted nothing more than to-

"What do you say we get outta here?"

He read my mind.

As Adymm and I stepped out onto the vacant balcony, I took one last look back at the party; a bunch of my dad's artsy-fartsy friends wearing ugly hats, gossiping and schmoozing and acting like retards. Then a blast of frigid Winter air smacked me in the face, drawing my attention back to the balcony. Even out here, the air was filled with noise from the surrounding buildings - we could almost hear Times Square from there - but it was muffled by drastic space and a light sprinkling of snow that was falling.

"That's better," I breathed, even though I could practically see the words frozen in the air.

"Yeah." A pause. "Man, I can't get over how friggin' hot you look, Libbs."

Turning traffic-light red, I turned to look him over for the umpteenth time that night; the tuxedo was black, duh, but somebody had found him this metallic blue bow tie that matched the exact shade of his spiky hair. Clean shaven, shoes shined, his grandfather's cufflinks... it was quite a transformation. Meanwhile, I guess my little red dress was snazzy enough that I didn't look like a cheap trinket on his arm, which was the goal.

Oh, what the hell - I DID look hot. Both of us did!

"A toast!" That startled me, and I hurried to raise my champagne flute. "To the two of us; may the second semester of college be easier on our poor heads."

"Hear, hear!" We clanked and sipped, then laughed. As we watched the lights of the city twinkle, I couldn't help but feel contented and happy, if only for a moment; it was such a perfect night.

But of course, the feeling only lasted a moment. Even though we were making idle conversation, and at the time I was aware of it enough to respond, my mind wandered back where it always did, where it had been wandering for the past five days. You know how it is when there's something scary or unpleasant you'd really rather not think about, but the more you don't want to, the more you automatically do? That's how it was, and I never got more than five or ten's minutes of peace between.

What in God's name am I talking about, you ask? Well, I don't know about God, but my name is- ...actually, let's skip all that for now. Don't worry, I'll catch you up later.

"Libby?"

"Huh, what?"

He laughed, leaning back on the railing with his elbows. "I asked you if you had a resolution yet. Guess you were off in Libbyland again."

"Guess so," I laughed, opting to sit in a chair despite how frigid it was. "But... no, I haven't really thought about a resolution. I mean, how do you improve on perfection?"

"That's supposed to be my line, you conceited vixen."

And we laughed again just as we heard an excited cheer go up from within the apartment; the ball was dropping, and they started counting from ten.

"Here we go," I breathed, standing up to look into Adymm's eyes more properly.

 _"Eight!"_  the hoity-toities inside chanted.

"Do you believe in the whole midnight kiss thing?" he asked, slipping his hands around my waist.

_"Six!"_

"I dunno," I whispered, feeling up his back as my heart quickened. "Shouldn't we at least try?"

_"Four!"_

"Eh, why not?"

In the remaining three seconds, as Adymm's lips moved closer to mine, my mind drafted a New Year's Resolution: to forget my old life and everything about it, and to move forward with Adymm into the future. My resolution was to embrace a shiny new Libby Chessler, and forget about Westbridge altogether.

Except it wasn't going to happen. The moment he kissed me, and the whole world dropped away around me like the veils of a belly dancer, the dancer in the middle remained... and, as always, it was her.

On instinct, I broke the kiss just a half-beat too soon, and I immediately saw Adymm's eyes register confusion. Before that confusion could percolate into disappointment, I threw my arms around him, squeezing him in the tightest hug my arms could muster.

"Oh, Adymm... tonight has been so annoying, but you... this was perfect. Thanks for coming."

"Aww," he cooed, all the tension in his body disappearing. "Like I was going to spend New Year's Eve with my sister, watching Dick Clark again."

We both laughed, and I drew back to kiss him again; this time, no errant thoughts got in the way through sheer determination. Then we broke apart, and I asked, "So... ready to 'mingle' again?"

"If we have to," he sighed. "Guess I could use some more of those little hot dog things."

And we returned to the throng, laughing at horrible jokes and being accosted by old friends of my father, doomed to spend the next hour or so in socialite Hades.

* * *

Very well. The dirt, right? Guess I did promise. Now, some of you will either already know this crap from reading my past memoirs, or you've at least inferred parts of it. Well, said crap has been plaguing me for a while now, and unfortunately I am at a complete loss this time. But you guys wanted the skinny, so here we go.

Bonjour! Je m'appelle Libby Chessler, et je serai votre guide touristique ce soir. Sur votre droite, vous verrez- excusez-moi? Vous m'aiment parler Anglais? Je fais des excuses!

You should already know who I am by now, though, so let's cut to the chase; my problem. Admitting I have a problem is the first step to recovery, right? Well, my luck always seems to throw me at least one major, insolvable quandary per year (usually two or three), and I suppose it just  _had_ to get one last Catch-22 in for 2000. See, ever since a certain... thing happened the day after Christmas, I haven't been able to sleep very well, and my mind dwells on it at great length during the day, also. In fact, though Adymm and I have spent the last few days patching things up and living large around town, I still can't clean my brain out enough to fully enjoy it.

What's my deal? Well, if you've been with us so far, you probably already know, but... but it's worse than that. It's not just that I can't forget about it, or that I can't forgive myself for ruining everything... nor is it that she won't return my calls, even though she saw me off at the airport. When I'm not ruminating on the basic mechanics of what went on, I'm trying to run away from any implications it might hold, because I can't handle them. There's something more sinister at work here, something sabotaging the end of my holiday and corrupting my brain in all the worst ways.

See, what should have just been an innocent, controlled substance-induced lapse in judgement has been growing into a... a chronic phobia, almost. Or maybe we should be calling it an obsession. Whatever, it all comes down to one thing:

My name is Libby Chessler, and for one reason or another... I'm addicted to Sabrina Spellman.

_END Chapter One_


	2. Strange For The Sake Of Strange

Honestly, I hate to blow past all of January, but things move fast in New York City. Besides, it's just as well we don't dwell too much on the duller points of my life, which while I'm sure would thrill you to no end, they aren't as important as the rest of this story. So read on, Macduff!

After New Year's came slaving away at Scapelli's, and after that came university life. On top of that, Greg wasted very little time getting us back to work on some new material, so between the job, the education, the band, and my nineteenth birthday (yay, cake and leather goods!), I had virtually no chance to think about certain rave incidents in Massachusetts... but it didn't really go away.

In Absinthia? Yeah, we rocked. No seriously, I think we got better and better, and the fans seemed to think so, too... mostly. I mean, there's always those few die-hard fans who think you sell out when you change lead singers - several times I was booed, hearing one or two people scream "Bring back Killvein!" But like I said, that was just a few people, and most of the audience thought I was the only thing saving the band from oblivion.

Oh, and speaking of Killvein... after one of our better shows at The Cobra Pit, we ran into him hanging around the entrance. He just looked at us, snorted derisively, and left. What a jealous assrabbit!  _HE'D_ never sold out a crowd headlining and moved thirty t-shirts in one night - uh, not that we had  _that_ night, but we sold a good five or ten, plus a few demo tapes.

That's right - we finally cut a demo. Unfortunately, we hadn't had the chance to press it on a CD so cassettes were all we could offer at first (I know,  _ouch_ )... but by the end of January, Adymm's parents got him a Dell with a burner, and Greg and him figured out how to feed the audio from the master tape into it. It was a very long process that mostly had me laying around on Adymm's bed and staring at the ceiling, but eventually we got it done, and an eight-track sampler was born. We called it "The Eighth Emerald EP", for... well, I don't know why, it was TQ's stupid idea. I guess it has a nice ring to it, though.

And Adymm and I? Well, we were doing great. Some residual weirdness was had my first day back in the city, but it didn't take us long to hash things out and get back to where we were. So what if I bit his head off? So what if he didn't think I was happy there? It kind of dawned on him that I wouldn't have been so upset if I didn't love him, and I came to accept that he wasn't used to me being around friends that weren't  _his_ friends first. Wasn't it weird for me when I first met the band? Damn straight.

Maybe somewhere along the way, he forgot I'm a woman. Well, not that it isn't obvious (especially when you're the archetype of feminine beauty, as I am), but if you forget how to  _act_ girly, men can forget to treat you like one. Does that make any sense?

Anyway, my life was trending along toward normalcy until a week before St. Valentine's... it was a Wednesday, I think, because I ended up with New England clam chowder all over my apron (and we only serve the red kind on Wednesdays). After I got off, feeling all icky and horrible, I went straight over to the garage; we were going to practice this new song the guys had written to determine if we needed any lyrical changes or not. Yeah, that's right about when my life started unravelling again...

"Hola, Libby," Milnot called over to me. "How's the food service industry?"

"Better than the street-walking industry," I sighed, throwing my coat onto a nearby folding chair, "but by a narrow margin. How goes everything?"

"Rotten," TQ growled. "Rotten like old freakin' garbage in an abandoned freakin' alley with a dead freakin' dog in it."

My eyebrow went up. "That freakin' good, huh?"

"Ophelia says... she wants to see other people."

"Which is code for 'it's so completely over'," Adymm muttered.

"I know what it's code for, dickweed!"

"Boys, boys," Greg chided, holding up his water bottle between them like a toll gate arm. "Let's save the shenanigans for Jerry Springer, yeah? We've work to do."

"Whatever," TQ grumbled, stomping over to his bass. "Let's just do this."

Practice went fine aside from the tension; everybody but Milnot seemed to be in a bad mood when we started, and we weren't much better off by the time we decided to pack it in. Nothing really got done, except we played the new song ("Slow Flicker" - many lyrics about turning on lights and stuff) over and over, and a couple of the old ones at the end just to wind down. I mostly spent the time watching TQ's bad mood broil beneath the surface, and trust me - it looked pretty bad.

Anyway, Adymm and I were walking down the road talking; I'd been thinking about what he'd said to TQ, and decided I needed to speak up.

"You shouldn't have done that," I suddenly blurted.

"Bought a new stapler?" he asked in surprise. "Well, I don't think I can fix the old one since it fell down the sewer, so-"

"Not that," I snapped impatiently. "I mean... what you said to TQ."

"Oh, that. Yeah, maybe, but... well, we don't know jack about her, but he seems to whine about her a hell of a lot. Doesn't he see that if she treats him like leftover asparagus, maybe he's better off without her?"

"Obviously their love is blind."

"Obviously."

Sighing, I shook my head. "Adymm, the point is that a 'Gee, that sucks' was in order, and you didn't come up with one. That was way harsh."

"Hey, I can't help it if his girlfriend's a bitch. If he wants to keep chasing after her, I guess it's his choice, but I'm not gonna sit there and pretend it's a good thing."

"Maybe she's good for him," I muttered. "I mean, he's all but completely gone cold turkey as far as the coke goes, and he's doing better at showing up on time... she's keeping him in line."

Adymm rolled his eyes. "Then he needs to find a similar soulmate who isn't a total slut."

"Slut?!"

We both stopped walking, so as to more properly scream at each other. "Yeah, slut. She's the one who wants to see other people, right?"

"So what? That doesn't make her a slut, it just makes her..."

"Loosey-goosey?"

"Oh, shut up, you neanderthal!" I started pacing in a tight circle. "Jesus, none of us have even met her, and here you are passing judgement! What if she's working through something? What if he's been treating her like crap lately, or she just wants to see if a better match is out there?"

His eyebrows knit. "Are you speaking for Ophelia, or yourself?"

My arms folded. "I'm not sure you want to ask me that right now."

"Oh, well, fine!" He stomped off a ways, then whirled to face me again. "Why don't you and O- _feel-up_  go cry into your beers together? And hey, who knows? Maybe you two'll hook up and leave us quote-unquote 'insensitive guys' in the dust!"

"Maybe I will!" I shouted after his back. "Be better than listening to your hypocrisy!"

Hypocrisy? I'm not sure that's actually what he was practising at that moment... why did I say that?

* * *

The door was unlocked when I got home; that meant dad was in and awake. I said "Hi, Dad" to him when I walked in, but it sounded more like "Haggghhhhd," I'm sure.

"Hey, sweetie," he called from the couch. "Sounds like you had a nice day."

"The funnest." Kicking my shoes off and throwing my jacket at the coatrack as I went, I crawled into the kitchen for a cup of herbal tea. "Got red chowder all over this white shirt."

"C'mon, give me more credit as a parent; chowder isn't enough to bring down a Chessler."

As the kettle warmed up, I plodded back into the living room. "Seriously, you don't want me dragging your brain through this minefield."

"Try me," he said, hitting the "Ctrl" and "S" keys on his laptop before setting it on the coffee table.

"Oh, whatever," I grumbled, sinking into the easy chair. After a few moments of mental debating, I opened with, "Adymm and I had a little fight."

"Yeah? Was there blood?"

"Dad-"

He held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry."

"Yeah, well anyway... he said something mean to our bassist about his girlfriend, and they got into it... and I called him on it after practice, but he didn't seem to think he did anything wrong."

"And you got over-excited about it, even though in retrospect it wasn't such a big deal," he finished for me.

"Uh, yeah... how'd you know?"

He laughed. "I've met your mother." We both laughed at that before he continued. "Seriously though, she did that on a daily basis, and she mostly raised you, so it's no surprise to me that you'd emulate her once in a blue moon."

"Gee, thanks for making me feel better, Father."

"Oh, shut up," he chuckled. "It's not necessarily bad, just something to watch out for. We all have quirks like that - they're endearing in small doses, but if we let them run free, they destroy everything in sight. You know, like children."

"Dad!" And again he laughs at me. "It's good to know you hate me, too, but... I still don't know what to do about Adymm."

"What she always did; apologise for the way you acted without apologising for what you said."

I nodded, adding sarcastically, "Whatever you say, Sir."

"Anytime, good daughter." He started to go back to his laptop, then paused. "Oh, I almost forgot - there's something on your dresser that might cheer you up."

Just then, the kettle went off. "Thanks," I said as I tended to my tea. Once I had my cup prepared, I went to find the something on my dresser, which turned out to be a letter.

From Sabrina.

_END Chapter Two_


	3. Shifting Into High Cheer

The teacup had to be set down immediately; my hands had started trembling so badly I was afraid I'd drop it, and that would be a nasty stain on the carpet.

Sabrina sent me a letter? Yeah, that was her return address. But why? I mean, I was thrilled, excited - but I'd been calling her at least twice a week for a month and a half, trying to re-open the lines of communication, without so much as a "Hello". Suddenly, she's actually spending time and money on getting me a message? What gives?

Hesitating no longer, my fingernail slit the envelope open, and what tumbled out... was a Valentine. On the front was a doofy-looking cupid cartoon, and the caption read, "It's February again, and you know what THAT means..."

No, I didn't! In fact, I was really confused - what kind of message did she think this was sending?! My face beginning to redden already, I jerked the card open to read the lame punchline: "Black History Month! ...oh, and Happy Valentine's Day, Sistah!"

I could have killed her. This was so low it awakened the old knee-jerk desires from high school - I mean it, I was on the verge of grabbing my credit card and hopping a cab to LaGuardia just to fly down and wring her stupid neck until a fluttering caught my eye. Glancing down, I saw a neatly-folded note just landing on top of a stray blouse I'd missed when doing laundry. With no small amount of trepidation, I bent down, snatched it up, and read:

> _"Libby,_
> 
> _First of all, I'm really sorry about that super-lame card; I needed cover to send you a letter without making it look conspicuous, because the nature of these words doesn't need to be discovered by certain nosy roommates. If anybody asks, all I sent you was a dumb Valentine to let you know there's no hard feelings._
> 
> _Moving along, I'm also sorry I've been avoiding your calls. Truth be told, it's because I wasn't sure I was ready to talk about what happened yet. Seriously, I can't believe you wanted to talk about it so quickly; it sure blew me away! I haven't even told anyone at all yet... mostly because I'm not even sure what I'd be telling them. At first, all kinds of randomness went through my head, but when I really thought back I could tell you were just as surprised as me... and yeah, high. Like, Kilimanjaro high!_
> 
> _There are questions I want to ask you, but I don't feel I have any right. That is, even if I have the right to know, it is so NOT my place to up and demand you tell me, y'know? And there's questions you probably have for me, which I'm not ready to answer, either. This thing, it's just too big right now... like trying to paddle your canoe across the Atlantic. It might be something you've always wanted to try, but not any old weekend, because... it takes time to do that. Heck, it takes time to figure out how you're going to pull it off at all._
> 
> _Please don't call me again. It's not that I hate you, or even that I don't want to talk to you, so please don't think that! I'm just not ready to have The Conversation yet, and I don't think it's the kind of unpleasant topic you can dance around... but I couldn't keep ignoring you, it felt so wrong. Hence, the letter - duh, right? You MUST understand that this is not goodbye; when I actually know what I'm doing (or even what I'm saying), you'll be the first to know, and that's a promise. Until then, take care of yourself._
> 
> _Still Your Best Friend,  
>  Sabrina"_

And thus... I wept.

What happened the next day? I woke up, had some coffee and a raspberry danish, then went to class. What?! Since there was nothing I could do and I'd already cried myself to sleep yet again over this, that morning I decided to stick to my resolution; there's a new Libby Chessler on the horizon! Look out, New York!

Ehh, besides, once I got past the whole "don't call me again because I can't talk to you anymore" deal, I realised it was actually kind of sweet. No, really, listen: she went through all that hassle just to tell me she didn't hate me, right? Maybe we could go back to being friends someday. In fact, I started keeping the letter in the back of my History textbook so I could take it out and look at it no matter where I was; it gave me that glimmer of hope I needed to let the situation be. For now, anyway.

Unfortunately, I had some English paper due that morning which I totally forgot about finishing... and yes, I received a fairly underwhelming grade. Don't worry, I made it up. That and serving platters of spaghetti while dodging Scapelli Jr's butt-pinches helped ease my mind away from deeper, more distressing matters.

Adymm and I made up, unsurprisingly. Was there any doubt this pointless fight would blow over? He came by, everything was awkward for a couple minutes, and then we were out catching some frivolous blow-everything-up flick. Nothing more to it than that.

A week later was Valentine's Day, which I'm sure you figured out since I already mentioned it. I'd never been in a serious relationship on V-Day before, and I wasn't sure what to expect. Was he going to get me roses and Ghiradelli? He seemed more like the type to go with a mix CD or something like that. This had me all a twitter that morning at school, and by the time the end of the day rolled around, I was a wreck.

You may not know this (and I wouldn't either without the occasional letter from Mom), but in Japan the girls traditionally give the guys chocolates on Valentine's Day. Versus all the worrying and nail-biting, I'd rather be Japanese.

Early evening on the big V. I was walking up to the front door of our apartment building when I heard someone call, "Care for a ride, miss?"

My hand was just slipping into my purse for that can of Mace when I saw the blue hair sticking out from under a chauffeur's cap. "Adymm, what are you- where did you get  _that?!_ "

You see, he was standing next to - I kid you not - an Aston Martin. An honest-to-God, genuine  _ASTON MARTIN!_ Children, this thing was no less than gorgeous: silver, sleek, and in pristine condition. I'm not ashamed to admit that I pretty much started salivating on sight of it.

"Uh, Libbs, you got a little..."

"Oh, sorry." I wiped the drool and started walking around the car. "Omigod, I never thought I'd be within ten feet of one of these without a valet telling me to buzz off!"

He grinned; I could see it in the car's shiny fenders. "You approve? It's an-"

"A DB7 Vantage Volante," I finished for him. "The first Aston to carry a V-12. Do you know how many people would gladly give their left nut for one of these?"

He walked over to me, an almost shocked look on his face. "Wow, I didn't know you knew that much about cars."

"This is no car," I breathed. "It's a chariot of the gods."

"It's the parents'," he said matter-of-factly. "They bought it a few weeks ago, and this being a holiday I begged and pleaded, and eventually-"

"What happened to the Benz?" As I finished asking, it dawned on me how stupid I was being. "Right, nevermind - filthy stinking rich. They probably have twelve of each."

"But tonight, we have this one," he said with a wicked grin.

"Ohh, Adymm, it's absolutely exquisite! If only I- I..."

My throat went dry when I noticed the keys were dangling in front of my eyes. Because he's a total prick, he actually moved them around to see if my eyes would follow... which they did, of course. I was a cat staring at a piece of string.

"Wanna dr-"

And then I was behind the wheel, yelling, "What are you standing around for? Get in, already!"

It was a dream; heated leather seats, wood paneling, the works. It smelled deliciously expensive inside. Seriously, the thing has a platinum-plated driver's foot rest, for Chrissake - does it get more posh?! Maybe he didn't quite realise it, but... it had been so long since I got to drive a car period, ever since I gave it up to live in New York City, and here I was careening through the city that never sleeps in a four-hundred-twenty horsepower fantasy.

Or maybe he did know, and he's just that sweet.

Not only that, but he had (among other selections) Smashing Pumpkins's "Machina" and Vertical Horizon's "Everything You Want" loaded in the 6-disc changer in the trunk. Leave it to him to even get that mix CD in there somehow!

"So, where are we going?" I finally asked after I had my fun.

"You'll see - but you might wanna go home and change first..."

I spared a stony glance in his direction, but he didn't flinch. "Why, don't you like what I have on?"

"Trust me on this one."

* * *

I'm going to stop us there. It seems to me now is the time to cover a couple of topics that need to be broached... besides, I'm coming to the end of this chapter, so I really don't have enough room to tell you about the rest of the date, anyway. The story will keep.

First of all, no, I don't know cars that well. I know  _luxury_ cars - an important distinction, I think. Benz, Rolls, Lexus... you name one that costs an arm and a leg, and I've been dying to stick my ass in it since before puberty, even if it wound up in the passenger seat. Maybe I've grown a lot as a person and shed many of my shallow ways, but I'll always be a sucker for a hot car like that. C'mon, as far as personality flaws go, that one's not so horrible, right?

Also, I  _have_ grown a lot as a person. I was reading through my high school diaries, and I can't believe how vapid and cold I sounded! Like it or not, I guess I have Sabrina to thank for that... making me a better person. I never would've believed you if you told me back then, but because of novel new concepts like empathy, I am a much happier and more contented Libby now than I could ever have imagined. Funny how things work out like that, huh?

Oh yeah, and one more thing. This is your last chance to get out before an avalanche of horrific things befall our beloved heroine (that's me, you wiseacres) - including heartbreaking misunderstandings, really disturbing moments, and some things you might not actually believe at all, but I'm still going to write about them, because they're  _MY_ memoirs, dammit! The badness and over-drama might not all happen at once, but it'll be trickling down throughout, and I feel it's only common courtesy to tell you to get out before it gets yet weirder... and trust me, some of this makes _"2001: A Space Oddity"_ seem dry and predictable.

Once again, you've been warned. Okie-dokie?

_END Chapter Three_


	4. The Past Freaking Up To You

"Oh man, I'm stuffed."

Adymm smiled, leaning back in his chair. "You're preachin' to the choir, girl. There should be warning labels on their pasta."

"I know, but... I just had a salad and lobster, I figured I'd have room for something chocolatey!"

"You can over-cocoa yourself tomorrow, I promise."

I couldn't help but grin at him like a little kid; here we were, sitting on the roof of the swanky Chez Portobello, sipping wine under the stars at a candlelit table, taking in the- what? Okay, okay, you caught me; it was just grape juice in fancy glasses, but our being underage didn't make it any less romantic.

Not only that, but at one point a violinist came over to our table during dinner! Of course, he was trying to play that annoying Rimsky-Korsakov piece, which meant we had to chase him away. Quickly. By throwing dinner rolls. Truth be told, that was damn fun.

By now, though, we'd gone through the appetizers and main course, and were basking in the glow of a pleasant evening. As Adymm unwrapped one of the complimentary toothpicks, I just stared at him; where once I had thought of him as a gangly little goth freak, now I saw him as a fine example of a man, with those noble, angular features, the well-toned (if not "bulging", per se) physique... and he had quite the shoe size on him ( _SHH_ , you didn't hear me say that!). Even his eyebrow rings had diamonds in them tonight.

"What? Did I miss something?"

"Huh?" When he brought me back the present, I could see he was asking about his teeth. I shook my head. "Oh, no, you're in the clear."

"Oh. What's wrong, then?"

The smile returned in full force. "Not a thing."

And when my smile was shared with him, our glow was almost enough to put the candle to shame.

The date wasn't by any sense over, mind you; after that we went out for ice cream. Yeah, maybe I  _said_ I was stuffed, but by the time we walked from the restaurant to the ice cream shop, I was ready for a scoop of chocolate-chip cookie dough. We mostly licked and talked about random stuff, it was nice - until...

"Oh, I almost forgot to mention it," Adymm said, taking a bite out of his waffle cone.

"Whab ig id?" I managed around a mouthful.

"Greg said that coffee house in Westbridge wants us back... sometime next week. It's too bad we all have school and jobs and whatnot, 'cos I'm sure-"

"Oh."

He glanced up at me, puzzled. "What?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing. Yeah, sucks to be us, I guess."

He nodded and went back to the cone. I figured that was the end of the conversation, but I was way off base, of course - as proved about twenty minutes later in the car.

"Libbs?"

"Yeah, Adds?" I started retaliating with that about a month prior, just to piss him off; it always worked.

"Rgh." See? "Um, I wanted to ask you something..."

"Fire away." His eyes never left the road, but I could tell he wouldn't have been looking at me anyway... especially once the question came out.

"Do you trust me?"

"I... what?"

He didn't repeat the question.

"Adymm, what are you talking about? Of course I do."

"Okay."

For some reason, I think he thought my answering his question ended this intriguing dialogue, but he had another thought coming. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

"It... it's nothing."

"That's a pretty accusatory 'nothing', you freak. You don't think I trust you?"

"No, I just... I wasn't sure."

"Why not?" I pleaded, feeling simultaneously hurt and incensed. "What did I do?"

He seemed to be glancing around a lot now... everywhere but at me. "Forget it, okay?"

"I will  _NOT!_  Now, I demand you tell me what this is about, or so help me I'll-"

"Westbridge."

The car was silent as he rolled up to a stoplight. Several seconds passed.

"That's what this is about," he said quietly.

"About... Westbridge?" I asked tentatively. "What about it?"

"You never wanna talk about it," he continued, finally glancing at me again. "Ever, at all. It's like the Feds came in and made you take an oath of silence about Christmas. Jesus, Libby, what the hell happened to you down there?"

"Up there," I muttered.

"What?"

"No, I mean... um, Massachusetts is North of here."

He glared at me. "And the point is a little East of where you are."

"Just saying..."

"Yeah," he sighed, easing onto the gas as the light finally turned green. "Just saying anything but what happened back home."

"It's..." I wanted to tell him. I wanted to spill my guts, to let slip everything I'd been keeping bottled up inside... but ridiculous or not, I was so afraid he wouldn't want anything to do with me if he found out! Besides, I had promised myself I wouldn't tell anybody until Sabrina was ready for people to know, too. "It's complicated."

"Hey, if I couldn't do complicated I wouldn't be a rock guitarist."

A long moment stretched on. Lights whizzed by, and I fiddled with my handbag. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I... well, I did exactly the wrong thing.

"You've got a lot of nerve prying like this! Seriously, Adymm, you should be sharp enough to tell that whatever it is may be a teensy bit sensitive, and therefore I'll tell you when I'm ready to! Dammit, can't a girl keep a few things to herself?! Now drop it!"

That only created a longer, more complete silence; the Aston Martin felt like a tomb, holding the remains of a nice evening, now cold and dead. It's too bad, too, because it had been so perfect up to that point.

When we got to my apartment, I got out quietly, one of my heels wedged deep in my throat. He didn't even get out to kiss me; he just pecked me on the cheek, whispered, "Goodnight, Libby," and gunned himself on home.

Yeah, the situation was FUBAR, alright. Why did I bite his head off like that? Sure, he was being nosy, but if anybody's entitled to all the facts... but that's not what's important. No matter what I was going to tell him (or not tell him), he didn't deserve that tongue-lashing. Really, he deserved to know the truth about the whole situation, and I swore right there that I'd tell him... someday. Someday when it wouldn't seem so huge.

For now, all I could do was crawl upstairs to my room; there was homework to be done in the morning before I ran off to class, and I wanted to have time to cry myself to a decent night's sleep.

Unfortuantely, when I got upstairs, I found out sleep would soon be the furthest thing from my mind.

"Libby, is that you?"

"Yeah, Dad."

"I'm glad you're home," he called from the kitchen; his voice was growing louder, though. "Listen, there's-"

"Please, I'm begging you, save it for morning," I groaned. "Tonight totally Hoovered, and I'd really just-"

"Well, maybe this will cheer you up," another voice said. A  _WHOLE OTHER_  voice. A voice I hadn't heard in forever...

"M... Mom?"

_END Chapter Four_


	5. Blood Is Thicker Than Chessler

"Come give your mother a hug!" she said, holding out her arms as she walked forward. Too shocked to react, I stood there while she squeezed the pudding outta me, cooing, "Ohhh, I've missed you!"

"Uh, yeah," I mumbled incoherently. "But, well, wha...?"

"Business trip," she said as I breathed in her perfume; it was so different from how I remembered. "Reed's company is buying up a bunch of... oh, something or other. Who cares? I get to see my daughter again, that's what's important!"

"You smell like green tea, and... and cherry blossoms?"

"You like it? Reed bought it for me." She drew back to look at me. "They're called 'sakura' in Japanese, you know."

"What?"

She laughed lightly, as if I should somehow know this already. "Cherry blossoms, of course!"

"Oh..." Was I rubbing my arm again? Need to stop that.

"It's so good to see you - I can't believe how much you've grown! You look positively radiant in that outfit, what's the occasion?"

"Mom," I sighed, "I'm nineteen years old, I can't be any taller than when you-"

"Hmm, I could swear it," she ploughed ahead, shaking her head slightly as she moved toward a nearby chair to sit. "Darndest thing. Ah, well! So, how's school been?"

"...Oh God, you can't be serious."

The room got very still for a moment; Dad was hanging back by the kitchen door, hands in his pockets, pretty much waiting for this bomb to drop. I could tell Mother wasn't ready for it; her eyebrows went up a little, and she decided not to sit down just yet. "What's that, sweetie?"

"You really think you can pick up where you left off?" I laughed humourlessly. "I haven't seen you in almost TWO YEARS! You haven't even bothered to call or write me in like, months, and now you waltz back in here and decide you're gonna start parenting me?!"

"Libby, sweetheart, it's not-"

"I didn't even know you were coming! Did you know about this, Dad?"

He blinked. "Me? No, I didn't."

"I thought it would be a nice surprise," Mom said, trying to smile while shooting Dad a "you're not helping" look.

"Well, think again, because you're wrong. Maybe if you had bothered to at least send me a... a letter, or even a postcard! But no." Unwanted, tears started forming in my eyes. "My own mother doesn't give a shit about me, and Adymm and I had a fight, and Sabrina and I aren't speaking, and- and-"

"Libby..." Her concerned eyes were almost convincing, I must admit. "Sweetie, can't we just-"

" _NO!_ " Her hand was almost to my arm when I stepped out of reach. "No, you don't get to do this! You don't own me anymore, you can't control me, and you have no right to touch me! As far as I'm concerned, I don't have a mother - hell, I never really did!"

The look of sheer pain on her face had barely finished creating itself before I ran to my room and buried my face in my pillow. Only she could make me act like a two-year-old again, make me so distraught that I couldn't even handle my own tear ducts... but I'd be damned if she was going to get to see it.

* * *

"Libby?"

I didn't answer.

"Honey?" With a creak, the door eased open and my dad's bespectacled face appeared; I could see it reflected in the window. "Are you awake?"

Slowly, I rolled over and sat up. How much time had passed? Was it morning yet? No - the clock said it was two A.M., and I guess I was still crying. Truthfully, I was hoping I'd just fall asleep eventually; then I wouldn't hear my biological parents yelling at each other over this. Which they weren't doing anymore, obviously. Hmm, I guess it's possible I did pass out briefly...

"Come on, Libb, talk to me about it." He sat on the edge of my bed gingerly. "Chances are pretty good that I'll understand."

"Dad," I whispered.

And he hugged me for a while, whispering things like "Shh", and "It's okay." You have to understand, though; he hasn't done that since I first got to New York. It's not that he doesn't love me, but... he's just not a touchy-feely kinda guy, y'know? A pat on the shoulder, a tousle of the hair, maybe, but bear hugs and the like are usually overstepping for him. But he knew I needed it now, and I was so grateful I almost started bawling all over again.

"I don't want you to explain away what she did."

I felt him nod before he let go. "And I won't try to. Believe me, I know the woman can be less than thoughtful, and she's been off my Christmas list for years, so you don't really have to convince me to dislike her."

He made me half-smile. "It's... why is she so horrible to me? She just had to pick a night where I already felt like crap to make me feel even  _more_ like crap. Why can't she understand me, maybe act like she's my mother for once?"

"Well, in her own - albeit twisted - way, I think that's what she was trying to do today. But you're not wrong when you say it's too little too late, and she needed to hear that." He added, almost to himself, "Somebody had to tell her."

"You don't think I was out of line?"

"Of course not," he soothed. "We Chesslers usually say what's on our minds, and I'm glad to see you inherited something from me other than my great hair." We both laughed; he instinctively brushed his hand over his slowly-growing bald spot before it landed on my arm (the hand, not the bald spot... which would be bizarre). "I hope maybe a dollop of what you said sinks in for her, though... if at least to make her see what she's missing."

Wow, he actually hugged somebody twice in one night - and it was me both times. Y'know, when it works properly it's pretty amazing, that parent-offspring bond.

* * *

The next day, I found out my "parents" and Russell were holed up in the Waldorf Astoria. The  _WALDORF FREAKING ASTORIA_ \- and paid for by Reed's company. How annoying is that? Not only do they invade my city, but they wallow in such a ridiculous amount of luxury that I'd rather die than think about it.

Bet their toothpicks are gold-plated...

I went back to Columbia the next day as if nothing happened; rushed through my homework, handed in the half-assed essay and thanked whoever's up there for helping me get  _something_ done right - even if it  _was_ a rush job. Not only that, but I actually got a better grade than I deserved; maybe the professor finally got laid or something. Anyway, never let it be said that Chessler wits aren't good for something.

The workday afterward was just as bland as ever, and I was going to go home and crash, but something told me I didn't want to go back home, so I opted to head over to the garage instead. There was a chance Adymm was there, and if so I could apologise right away and get it over with. Hey, maybe he'd even forgive me! I could only be so lucky.

Alas, the garage was... well, still busy being a garage. TQ's dad told me he wasn't there, and with nothing else to do, I left - but right outside I ran into a familiar face.

"Oi, Libby! Scare a bloke half to death, will you?"

"Greg!" I clutched at my heart, laughing breathlessly. "Holy Hell, what are you doing here?"

"Eh," he shrugged, hands returning to his jacket pockets. "Bit of a walk before work is all... though it's brass monkeys about, lately. You wouldn't be looking for your plaything, would you?"

"Well... yes and no," I said obtusely. "Does that make any sense?"

"Er... not really."

"Sorry, I- I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

"Well, here's hoping you suss it out. See you at practice." And he continued past me down the sidewalk again.

"Greg, wait!" He didn't turn, but he stopped. What  _was_ I doing, exactly? I fidgeted, then continued with, "Do you... have time for a cup of coffee?"

_END Chapter Five_


	6. Greg Save The Queen

"Hmm... you  _are_ in a rather nasty spot o' bovver."

"Uhhh... okay." Would someone in the audience please explain to me why I thought this was a good idea? Confiding in a man whom I can barely understand might have seemed sensible at the time, except now the second (and third) thoughts were surfacing. But hey, somebody had to know the real situation up here, and he just happened to walk by... it's like a fate thing, right?

Greg stroked his stubbly chin and sipped his mochaccino for a few moments, watching the busy foot traffic of New Yorkers in their natural habitat under the streetlamps. Then, after clearing his throat, he finally said, "Nope, can't help you."

"What?!"

He laughed harshly before removing his ever-present sunglasses and tossing them on the table; I always thought it was weird that he kept wearing them on the rainiest days of the year, and especially on most nights. "The bleeding truth is, I wouldn't touch this with a ten-foot, luv. 'Cept it seems you must." Another swig, and an accompanying sigh. "So... come now, you really can't elaborate on this Westbridge incident? I can't very well help much with such dodgy details."

Okay, when I said "real situation," I meant as much of it as I could blab, obviously. "It's... let's say it's a broken ankle I'm not willing to put my full weight on yet. Maybe once I've had more time to heal?"

He nodded. "Been there. Still puts me at a distinct disadvantage, y'know." We both lapsed into thoughtful silence again for a few seconds, during which he lit one of those things he swore he was quitting. "Well, I can tell you what to do about your mum, at least."

"That would be a start."

"Tell her to get bent."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Lybia," he began with a puff of smoke, "you said it yourself; the sodding cow's been no mother to you, hasn't bothered about you in ages - so why should you get all het up over her? Just 'cos she's deigned to drop in on you like she's the Duchess of flippin' York doesn't mean you're required to curtsy like a good lass."

"But... but I can't help but feel I have to do  _something_ while she's here. Even if I don't forgive her, shouldn't I go gripe her out again, or hit her up for money, or something?!"

To my surprise, he shook his head quickly, as if he had strong feelings on any matter (which would make headlines in the Times). "That's inviting nothing but trouble, that is; chances are high you'll get nothing out of it, and  _still_ feel like a git. Best to just... find a pub, get yourself a pint and a chip butty and settle in for a nice wallow."

I need a British-to-American dictionary. "But-"

"Look here," he said suddenly, pointing to his left eye with the ring finger of the hand clutching his cigarette. I leaned forward and squinted, but it didn't do anything for me. "See that?"

"To be honest... no?"

Another smoke-tinged sigh; this wistful look was settling over him, and I could tell he was sailing us off to Flashbacksville. "About four, maybe five years ago, I ran into me mate from sixth form - bloke named Edward Rousselot. Cor blimey, haven't thought about him in- right, off-point, sorry." He took a moment to cough. "So Ed and I go down the local, have a few frothies, and get to talkin' about old times. Right about there's where I remember he owes me a few quid from our school days - and by a few, I mean about two hundred Pounds."

"Is that a lot?"

"Hmm... more or less, four hundred American?"

"Jesus!"

"Exactly - even Christ would want  _that_ back. Short version: his old Volkswagen needed some repairs, I'd won a bit of a flutter on the gee-gees, and was feeling uncharacteristically generous. Besides, I reckoned I'd call in the favour at some point." After one last drag on his Camel, he leaned in for dramatic effect. "Well, I didn't plan on bringing it up, seeing as how the gent and I were getting on so well, and most history should stay in the books. That is, until he tried to stick me with the bill; said he was skint that month. I shouldn't have to tell you I demanded he repay me in full there and then, the pillock."

This story - or what I could understand of it - was pretty interesting, and also carried the added bonus of taking my mind off my problems. "What happened?"

"The sod throws a wobbly like you'd never believe; shouting and carrying on so. Meanwhile, I'm all of dither myself, cursing and threatening, and being that we were both very, VERY pickled, eventually it came to blows. All the patrons gathered 'round to see the show, and before long, there was blood spilled." He leaned back with his mug. "Of course, in the end I beat him hollow AND got the money, but considering what it cost me I'd prefer not to have seen so much as a copper from the whole debacle."

"Unbelievable..." Then I blinked. "But wait, what's that have to do with your eye?"

"Still don't see it?" And he stood, leaning over the table until his face was inches from mine. Let me tell you, it was a pretty horrifying experience - his breath reeked of smoke at the moment, and he was a little haggard around the eyes. But just when I was about to ask him to back off, I noticed a tiny scar.

"What-?"

"There we are," he muttered, sitting back. "Genuine, grade-A, mouth-blown glass, that is; nothing made in Hong Kong was going in my skull, thanks."

"Absolutely wild," I breathed, glancing between it and his real eye. "I would never have known!"

He laughed harshly again, putting his shades back on. "Well, I'd just landed myself a goodly load o' dosh - I could afford a nice one. Anyway, the moral of this grim faerie tale is that... sometimes it's just not bloody worth it. When it is, it is - like perhaps with Adymm - but when it isn't, trying will only twist the knife in your heart... or the bottle shard in your eye. Take it from me, pet."

Again we sat in silence as I mulled over his advice; it made a lot of sense. Seriously, what kind of positive outcome could I possibly get if I tried to patch things up with Mother? I sure as hell didn't want to move to the land of kimonos, and at best we might have one decent conversation before she left again. Not that it was comforting in the slightest, but I had to admit he was right.

"You sure you can't help me out with Adymm or Sabrina? Anything you can give me would totally help, 'cos I'm completely at the end of my rope."

"Well," he said slowly, "not with your - let me see if I can use this properly - 'home slice', but ol' Spikey... I'd say be open with him. You got right shirty over the matter, and he's probably sore; tell him you're sorry for the tantrum, but you're still in a state of non-disclosure. Your best bet, there."

I bowed exaggeratedly. "A thousand thanks, O great Davies. You are wise beyond your years."

"Oh leave off, smartarse, I wouldn't go that far," he mumbled, standing up and throwing a couple bucks on the table. "I've lived longer is all. Now, it's been a stonking chat, but I'd best be off to the deli. Ta, ducky... and best of British luck."

"See ya later," I called out as he left me in the café with a ton to think about.

* * *

The only problem with Greg's advice is that it turned out to be extremely difficult to follow. That is, Adymm wasn't answering his cell for anything, he wasn't home, and there was seemingly no other way to find him; I mean, how am I supposed to make up with Where's Waldo?

Meanwhile, when I got back to the apartment, I found several messages on the answering machine. The first few just asked if I were there and if I would pick up, but the last one was a little longer:

"Libby, please pick up - I want to talk to you, please? ...Look, I know I've never really formed that mother-daughter bond with you we're supposed to automatically have, and I'm sorry for that. But - well, don't you think it's time we got started? All I can do here is extend an olive branch and hope you'll take it." An audible sigh. "You have our room number if you want to talk. I love you, Loobyloo! Bye."

Apparently, guilting me was her new strategy. Well, it wasn't going to work. The Wicked Witch of Westbridge dumped me in a glorified holding cell before going AWOL, and I should feel guilty that I'm not more understanding? She should be down on her knees, begging me not to sue her for neglective parenting; I could claim psychological abuse and mental trauma, couldn't I?

On top of that, I couldn't forgive her for actually calling me Loobyloo again for the first time in a million years... a pet name I came to despise when I reached junior high. Imagine if Adymm or somebody had been there - how humiliating!

The sun came up on another dreary Saturday in the city. I had a restless night full of dreams about glass eyes looking for Waldo, and now my head was killing me. Maybe a shower would rinse the evil nightmares away so I could concentrate on scraping my life back together; at the very least, I could try to pin down Adymm and get him to listen to me.

But we were out of soap. This is my life unravelling, people - the one day I want a shower just to feel better about  _anything_ , and the Caress is nowhere to be found. Haven't I done enough pennance?

My groggy, grubby self clad in faded jeans and ratty sneakers was just stepping out into the noisy streets to hit up a convenience store when I ran right into some girl with flaming green hair and a bridge piercing.

"Oh, sorry, I-"

"Excuse m-"

And that's how I made a brand new friend... except, to my surprise, she wasn't a stranger.

_END Chapter Six_


	7. Getting To Know Ew

"Omigod - Libby Chessler?"

My jaw dropped. "No way - that can't be Ophelia Jones?!"

Of course, we subsequently squealed and did the hugging thing, which was natural; I mean, how could I have expected to bump into a former classmate right outside my front door, hundreds of miles away from our Alma Mater? Especially when she looked  _nothing_ like I remembered - what happened to the wispy geek in glasses that hung around with Mathletes and went to Star Trek conventions? However, I felt this to be the wrong thing to say, so I went another way.

"Holy shit, what are you doing here?!"

"I live here! Um, well, literally right there, actually!" I pointed to the door, laughing.

"Get out! Me, too - down in the Village!"

"That's so bizarre! How long have you been here?"

"Oh, ever since graduation," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "NYU, y'know. But I dropped out after the first semester, I was in the wrong headspace."

"Tell me about it," I moaned. "I mean, not dropping out, but I'm barely keeping on top of it all - college is totally a bitch."

She snickered. "No, I think we're  _its_ bitches. Hey, are you doing anything?"

"Oh, not really, just... heading to the store. That can  _so_ wait, though!"

"Frickin' sweet! We  _have_ to play some catch-up, and I won't take no for an answer!"

"Oh, wild horses, right?!"

A couple hours later found Ophelia and myself in that same cozy booth at that same pizza place where the band discussed headlining Westbridgestock (as the guys liked to call it now). We'd been talking about everything, from the tediousness of college life, to my horrible ordeal in Swords, to her strange experience at the circus (trust me, you'd rather not hear about it - I wish I could forget!). The remaining half of our pizza was cold, and the waitress had just taken away our soda glasses to refill them when the conversation became relevant enough to print here...

"You really got to see William Corgan Senior?!"

"I know, isn't it ridiculous?! There's like, no way in hell you could predict!"

"Goddess," she breathed, shaking both her head and the jar of red pepper flakes onto her slice. Y'know, maybe it's me, but I really hate those things; to each his (or her) own, I guess. "Hey, I think my boyfriend was at that concert... it was early December, right?"

"Yeah, it was."

She nodded sadly. "I spent weeks kicking myself for missing it, but my boss threatened to can my ass if I even thought about asking again. At least  _he_ got to go..."

"Hmm." I smiled, staring off into space. "Wow, that's so weird; I wonder if I saw him."

"Probably did, but who can tell in the mosh pit?" A stray turquoise-ish lock fell into her eyes; she lazily blew it back into place. "Eh, I'd rather not think about him right now, though."

"Why?"

She looked uncomfortable; darkly-polished nails shredded her napkin. "Well, let's say we've kinda... hit the rapids in the river of love."

"Oh?" I asked as the waitress brought our drinks back. "What'd he do?"

We both laughed before she answered. "Believe it or don't, it's not always them. He has been kind of a pill lately, but then again, so have I. We're just not... not connecting, maybe? Whatever, I got fed up with the fights and weirdness and told him I wanted to see other people."

"Mm." Then I spat my Surge all over the table.

"What, what is it?!" she yelped as I coughed violently.

"Ophelia?!" I gasped. "Not as in, 'girlfriend of TQ' Ophelia?!"

"Well, y- wait, you know TQ? How? I mean, he's-" And then it hit her, too, and her eyebrows started climbing steadily higher. "It can't be;  _YOU'RE_ Cheerless?!"

"Yeah," I gagged violently, dabbing all over my face and the table with napkins. "That's what they call me, despite my many protests."

"Jesus and Mary Chain!" she laughed, punching me in the arm. "Man, the world just keeps getting smaller and smaller, doesn't it?"

We spent the rest of our pizza brunch comparing notes on In Absinthia, as you probably guessed. See, it's unbearably messed up that we could've been hanging around all this time and we weren't, just because Ophelia didn't want to intrude on (or didn't much care about) TQ's band thing. Go figure life, huh?

Meanwhile, I couldn't help but marvel at how much Ophelia had changed; she'd been a complete loser freak in high school, part of the nerd herd, and now she was... well, she was still a freak, but she'd created this sort of understated pseudo-gothic coolness about herself. Sheesh, the neon hair, the leather skirt, the piercings - aside from her nose, there was a shiny eyebrow stud (was that a moonstone?) and two or three sets in her ears - and she had this bodice with buckles up the front that I would kill to have, even though I would only dare use it during band performances. Also, I happened to be dressed in some fairly drab shades of beige and blue, so next to me she  _really_ looked good.

Thus I brought the topic of conversation around to exactly that.

"I knew you'd use the word 'freak' at least once today," she laughed, staring down at her platform boots as we walked toward the subway. "But it's not like I don't know what you're talking about. Yeah, I started down the path of gothiness about the time I first joined a coven."

"A... coven?" I fought the urge to walk further away from her, settling for rubbing at my arm instead. "Really?"

"Relax," she giggled, her nose crinkling around her barbell. "I'm not really into the whole Wicca thing with mad intensity like I was at first... but I believe in it. Y'know, the way most Catholics only go to Mass on Easter and Christmas?"

"Gotcha."

"Yeah... I mean, maybe I'm not  _that_ bad; I still pray, and page through the Book every now and then, but it's not like I'd try putting a hex on my boss anymore, like I tried on Mr. Kraft. Wow, I was so Left-Handed back then."

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "You tried to curse our Vice Principal?"

"Principal," she corrected. "He got a promotion right after you left, y'know."

"That's right... well, did it work?"

Her eyes rolled as she snorted once. "Of course not. Like I found out later, it doesn't exactly work that way; there aren't any witches who can just point their finger and make things disappear, or turn into a pineapple or whatever."

"I hope not," I sighed as we stomped down the steps toward the E train. "That kinda thing would make me totally nervous; I'd probably never leave the apartment."

"Tell me about it!"

Now that I'm writing this down, I can't really remember how the subject got back around to the band, but it's not like it was hard, being that I'm the lead singer and she's dating the bassist. After we had used up a couple tokens and made it onto the platform, she asked me, "So how do you like singing? I've always kinda pipe-dreamed of a singing career, but I can't even sing in a karaoke bar without wetting myself."

I laughed. "Mostly it's fun... sometimes it's hard work, memorising all the cues, remembering which lyrics go where... not letting anything too stressful happen to my voice. Well, except for that Pumpkins concert; all the screaming killed my vocal cords for days."

"Ouch; I saw No Doubt last Summer, too... big shows like that are definitely insane. I heard this rumour Garbage is coming through again this year, maybe we should go!"

"Hey, why not? Shirley Manson kicks so much ass!"

She grinned, leaning back against a pillar. "But I bet it's fun, all the places you get to play; TQ was raving for weeks about how everybody loved you in Boston."

"It wasn't Boston," I said, unable to keep the exasperation out of my voice. "It was just..."

I almost automatically lapsed into silence. We stood there like idiots for a while, waiting for the train to show up, until she ran out of patience and asked, "Just what?"

"Just Westbridge," I said quietly.

She shook her green head. "You know, that's only about the third time you've actually said the word 'Westbridge' since I ran into you, but every time you get all quiet. Was it really that bad going home?"

"No, not really," I said; it took me a moment to acknowledge it was the truth. "Actually, I was having a great time, until...  _it_ happened."

"Ahh," she said with a sagely nod. "There's always an It. Is this a 'horrible mugging' It, or a 'my boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend' It?"

"Somewhere between those two, with several other Its to boot."

"Whoa... heavy stuff."

As I was nodding, the train whipped into view, billowing everybody's hair and sending litter flying. We laughed nervously as we stepped through the doors. "Anyway," I continued, "you don't wanna hear about Sabrinagate; I mean, that all has to be super boring to anybody who wasn't there, I'm sure. Well, except Adymm, who would definitely love to-"

"Hey, hang on there... did you say Sabrina-Gate?"

I blinked. "Oh... yeah, I did."

A wry grin cracked its way across her face as she grabbed for a nearby pole. "Not... Sabrina Spellman?"

"The very same."

"So wait, you... you're saying all this drama is over Sabrina, the girl you treated with no small amount of spite and malice for three years?"

"The irony is  _so_ not lost on me," I affirmed; her grin was only getting bigger, which made me feel more and more embarrassed.

"So what, did she try to talk to you again, therefore ruining your pleasant visit?"

"C'mon, give me more credit than that!" I said indignantly. "Trust me, it's way more complicated."

Her eyes rolled yet again. "Jesus, you pansy - it's not like you had some torrid affair or anything, is it?"

Ack.

_END Chapter Seven_


	8. Poor, Poor, Pitiful Libby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right around here is where it starts drifting toward a more mature audience. At present, it's a bit too tame for "M", but it will get less so eventually - hell, they're already snogging and snorting lines of God-knows-what. Thought it was pertinent - I am probably wrong. My story means too much to me and will never become a wellspring of smut, but there are incidents I found impossible to write from a G-rated, Puritanical standpoint. If I lose readership from this point on, so be it.
> 
> And though I answered it by revising the copyright info, I conjured Ophelia, but she's always been around; she was mentioned briefly in Cheer-Streaked.

Y'know, it's really unfortunate that I was so determined to hide it all - to keep that series of unpleasant oopses a big, deep, dark secret and lock it away in the back of my mind, never to be unearthed by any manner of beast or man. See, it's because I was so guarded that when her words pierced straight through to the heart of the matter, I completely lost all semblance of pretense, airs, cool, and dignity. Probably in that order.

Seconds passed; lights flashed by the windows as the train rocked on its tracks. After a minute or so, I guess Ophelia finally had enough of watching me stand there, my mouth opening and closing silently, because she leaned in slightly and whispered, "Wait... you didn't, did you?"

"Wh-what?!" I stammered, twitching all over in my state of panic. "I- I would  _NOT!_  I mean, hey, come on, that's- that's totally ludicrous!"

"Oh my  _GODDESS!"_ she shouted, waking up a bum sleeping on one of the benches.

 _"Shhh!!"_ I hissed loudly, eyes darting around wildly.

"I- I can't believe this! It's completely impossible, and yet- and yet you wouldn't be acting like a spaz if it wasn't true!"

"Shut up, shut up, shut  _up!"_ I growled, more terrified than angry. Whatever happened to inside voices?

She began laughing, more as a release than because it was funny (which it was  _so not_ ). "Libby Chessler and Sabrina Spellman! Seriously, of all the bizzare things to happen since high school, this has got to-"

 _"SHUT UP, DAMN YOU!"_ I shouted, clamping my hand over her mouth. Too bad I forgot the train was still moving.

It's also too bad we were coming to a stop at the next station. Without anything besides her face to hang onto, I fell right into Ophelia, and we both went down on the floor, a tangle of limbs and purse straps.

"Wow," she wheezed, "you really don't want this spreading around, do you?"

"You think?!" I snapped, trying to sit up... and failing. We squirmed and twisted away from the heels of other subway patrons as they stepped over us, hoping to God (or whatever, in her case) that we wouldn't get squished into oblivion. "Grr, can't something be done about these purses?!"

"You really did it," she whispered from inches away; I could see the fluorescent lights reflected in her moonstone as she tried to read my life story from my own eyes. "You fraternised with your worst enemy."

"It's-" I started screaming, then lowered my voice again. "It's not like that! The whole thing was completely innocent, I didn't- I was a victim of circumstance!" Then it hit me that my babblings only made me sound like a death row inmate, so I quickly changed tactics. "You... you won't tell anybody, will you?"

We heard a few wolf-whistles and cat-calls from the back of the subway car, so it was right about then we rationally devoted our resources to getting back to a standing position. After some trial and error we were on our feet, but then somebody bumped Ophelia from behind, sending us into an empty ( _whew!_ ) bench.

"Christ, Ophelia!" I grunted from under her weight, "how many metric tons of pepper flakes did you use?!"

"Listen," she breathed into my ear, sending a cold shiver down my spine; didn't she know how funny that feels, no matter who does it? "I- I promise I won't tell. Y'know, about you being... out."

"I'm n-"

 _"Shh."_ Her shushing was soft, and her lips were growing closer to mine than I'd prefer. "I'll keep your secret... if you keep mine."

* * *

This whole chick magnet thing is getting out of hand! Why does this scene keep playing out at my expense?! Maybe I need to fax out a press release, big bold letters - "Chessler Does  _NOT_ Want To Kiss The Girls: Rug Muncher Community Baffled!"

So yes, I stopped us there. We're taking this little break so I can vent about how nobody listens to me, and about how my luck always seems to run out at the most inopportune times. See, if I'd had  _any_ shred of good luck left, the nimrod that bumped Ophelia from behind would've bumped the other way! Or, better yet, I would've covered better when she made that joke about me and Sabrina bumping uglies, and none of-

What? Oh, so you want me to get on with your whoopty-freaking-doo pseudo-sapphic scene, huh? Fine. Nobody ever wants to hear my point of view; they only want the gory details. Well, that's just swell! Sargeant Libby Friday giving you just the "fax", ma'am! You people are deplorable.

* * *

The train seemed to be picking up speed; I could feel the vibrations through the seats and the pole I was white-knuckling. Maybe those vibrations were coming from my anxious heart, beating so fast I thought it would explode. Our eyes locked; her breath was hot on my chin, and the air around us stilled. Strands of her turquoise lowlights cut through our line of vision, swaying with the motion of the subway; it struck me that Ophelia was a lot more attractive than I'd previously believed. This was a piss-poor time to notice that, though.

"What am I doing?" she breathed, eyebrows knotting; I couldn't believe how well I could see every crinkle around her nose barbell, now. Her heart was speeding up while mine was slowing down, and the air was beginning to stir again, and everything was going to be just fine. There was no need to have some awkward memory in our past, which only consisted of a single day so far - and, as it turned out, we were on the same page. "I... this is all wrong. We've only really been hanging out for, what, four hours? Man, I don't know you, and you d-"

But that was all taken away from us when the train hit the bump. To this day, I haven't the foggiest clue what the bump was - a switch-track, or a lost token that landed on the third rail? Who knows? All that matters is my head was thwacked upward from behind.

Ophelia's lips aren't as soft as Sabrina's, but they're not as firm as Adymm's; they kind of had their own smoothness to them, it was different. Because of the way it happened, our left eyelashes brushed each other briefly, making us both blink more than we would normally... and all the while, our hearts raced forward, thrashing to get out and run off into eternity.

My tears only began budding when Ophelia didn't freak out, didn't sit up or get off. The taste was so vile, so repulsive, and she didn't want it to stop; she kissed me harder, her hands moving over my shoulder and the top of my head. Worst of all, the girl was no novice, and the pure disgust brewing in me didn't negate the fact that she was pushing all the right buttons. She wasn't supposed to feel  _good._  Couldn't anyone save me?

The moment stretched on forever, with me perpetually trapped in this state of dirty, hollow love - of feeling things I was never meant to feel. Like chests rubbing. Like a tongue that didn't belong. Like my thigh between hers. Like waves of heat - all over, seeping into every pore. We were getting along so well, and now this had to happen and ruin it all! And why in the name of all that is holy wouldn't she  _STOP IT?!_

Two things happened suddenly and almost simultaneously, and they both did nothing but throw fuel on the funeral pyre of my life. The first one was a revelation that hit me like a searing-hot bolt of lightning; I was being put through exactly what I put Sabrina through at the rave. If there's ever been a more direct, more powerful example of karma, I dare you to find it.

The second is the voice I heard.

_"LIBBY?!"_

At the very least, it broke that ghastly, nauseating moment and I was free to breathe again - both bonuses. On the downside, I'd rather have Maury Povich be the one to find us than...

_"MOTHER!!"_

Her face was ashen under the woven mahogany mink beret she was wearing; all the blush and ruby red lipstick in America couldn't hide it, either. The look in her eyes was something I'd seen before, on thousands of occasions... but now it was working exponentially, and despite how little I cared for her opinion anymore, it made the churning in my stomach redouble its efforts.

"M- mother?" Ophelia whispered nervously.

Just then, the subway arrived at the 23rd and 8th station; everybody was so involved, including all the bystanders watching the two (now three) of us, that we were all caught off guard, and several people lost their balance and fell to the floor. My mother, for her part, had to maintain a deathgrip on her handle to keep from doing the same, and Ophelia had to clutch my pole for dear life to avoid sliding off the seat. Unfortunately for me  _and_ my mother, she grabbed exactly where my hand was, and it didn't do much to make the scene look  _more_ innocuous.

She got sick. For the first time I can remember, I actually saw my mother get so distraught over something that she had to throw up, and she did so all over a poor businessman whose suit looked like it would be expensive to replace.

The doors slid open. With a single whimper of frustration, shame and disgust, I threw Ophelia off me and ran - ran until I was back at street level, and I didn't stop until I saw a vacant stool in front of a cafe, where I sank down to cry.

Actually, it wasn't so much crying this time as trembling violently, and straining to keep the pizza from coming back up. Seriously -  _ **EW!**_  What was wrong with me? Was I sending mixed signals? I didn't mean to radiate "come boff me" vibes to alternative lifestylers... but then again, there was nothing "mixed" about the vibe I gave Sabrina. Could there be a small part of me-

No. No, I couldn't go down that path. Maybe this situation made it impossible for me not to face what happened back in Westbridge, but there could be no waffling on my sexuality. I like guys - hot, beefy, sweaty guys with rippling pecs and bulging- okay, maybe I shouldn't print the rest of that. At any rate, there was nothing about the female form that allured me, even secretly. For proof (or what my mind was desperately believing was proof), had I ever thought about any girls like that, other than Sabrina? Of course not! And I only ever thought about Sabrina that way because we'd already been naked together the once; otherwise, I'm sure it wouldn't have occurred to me.

That explained everything neatly; Sabrina was a one-time fluke, a combination of over-analysing something innocent and being unwittingly drugged beyond rational thought. Never happen again! And as for Ophelia...

"Um, Libby? Are- are you okay?"

...she was standing right behind me.

_END Chapter Eight_


	9. Ophelia You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: This chapter title's dismal pun is going to be a bit hard to suss from how short it is, so here's a hint: think Depeche Mode.

"No." I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice level. "Get away from me."

"You f- you dropped this," she stuttered; when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw she was holding out my purse. "I j-just thought you might need it."

"Thank you." I reached behind my back to take it from her without turning. "Now go."

"Goddess, I- I'm sorry, Libby, it- I didn't mean for it to hap-"

_"Go!"_

She was silent for a moment. A taxi whizzed by us, whipping my hair into my eyes; my right stung from blinking too slowly. Then, her voice cracking, she begged, "Can't we talk about this, please?"

It broke me wide open, like a piñata full of guilt and empathy. How far was karma willing to go to rub salt in my wounds? I already knew what my crazy actions at the rave must have been doing to Sabrina, I didn't need to be retaught. But I was going to rise above - I wasn't going to be responsible for creating another rift in my life, and I wasn't going to let what happened to me happen to her.

And when I heard her boots slowly clomping away from me, I inexplicably knew I had to do it right then.

"Ophelia, sit down." Gingerly, she did as she was told, her blue nails digging into her exposed knees in anticipation; I noticed they were badly scraped, but there were more important things to address. "You're right, we have to talk about this."

"It was a huge mistake," she began, unable to keep the words from pouring out any longer; the dark streaks running down her face drove the stake further into my heart. "You probably think I've got some big gay hard-on for you now, and I'm not even really gay, I just... I've always been kinda curious, y'know? Thoughts, they sometimes... and then there's me and TQ being on the rocks, and you and I were getting along so well all day, which I guess I read way, WAY too much into - then suddenly I was on top of you, and your body felt so warm and s-"

"What the hell are you saying?!" I snapped, trying not to look totally overwrought even though my voice was an octave higher than usual.

"You're right, you're so right!" Her fists slammed into her temples a couple times, trying to knock all those images out. "This isn't helping at all! Honestly, Libby, I never,  _ever_ wanted this - you have no idea how sorry I am!"

"Oh, I might," I muttered bleakly.

She rubbed her face roughly, smearing her eyeshadow and making her look like an even bigger freak than before. "How did this happen to me? My life was on track, I knew where I was going, and- and then it all blew up in my face, one piece at a time."

"Looks like we're in the same dinghy these days."

"Yeah..." She looked up at me with no small amount of trepidation. Even through her running makeup, I could see her cheeks burning. "Is... is that why you kissed me?"

I blinked. "Wh-what?"

"It's okay! I mean, like you said, both our lives have been spiraling out of control lately, and-"

"Whoa, whoa, let's put on the brakes for a minute, there, saladhead. You think I kissed you on purpose?"

"Hey, I'm not judging," she said quickly. "You got caught up in the moment like I did, I guess, and- and it's not like we meant to let it happen, but you definit-"

"I would  _NOT!"_ I half-shouted. "Listen, the train went over a bump, you had to have felt it!"

She slowly shook her head. "I... I don't remember, it all happened so fast!"

I was desperate now; I stood, leaning over the table to look her in the eyes, my breath coming ragged. "The train went over a bump, which bumped our heads together. I never in a million years  _tried_ to kiss you. Got it?" Her mouth worked for a moment before she nodded quickly. "And this never happened, okay? Not as far as anyone but you and me is concerned. Clear as crystal?"

Her head began bobbing again, but then her eyes flew open. "Oh no."

"What?"

"Somebody else knows, Libby! Remember?"

And I sank back onto my stool, a wave of cold dread washing over me. "Mm..."

"Oh, oh I'm so,  _so, SO_ sorry!" she rambled. "I- it's bad enough this happened, but- if it were my mom, I'd never live it down!"

"No..."

"Maybe... maybe she won't ask questions, right? Maybe she'll think she imagined the whole thing!"

"Hah! Not  _my_ mother. In fact, I bet she won't rest until she's 'purged' me of this homo-bug, or whatever she thinks will fix what's 'wrong'. Like this was anything but some kind of... some kind of absolute catastrophe, that's what it was!"

"But... Libby, there's nothing wrong, here. You know that, right?" She pushed a lock of green behind her ear before continuing, eyes boring right through me with an intensity I've never seen before. "I mean, you know there's nothing wrong with being... out, don't you?"

I sighed in frustration. "Would you quit that? I'm not 'out'! I have a boyfriend - one whom I love very much! Why do you keep trying to turn this into-"

"That's not what I mean," she pressed on. "You know that it would be okay if- if your boyfriend wasn't a boy, don't you? Because it would."

A long moment passed with us staring across the table at each other, her waiting for me to come to a conclusion, and me trying to see what she was getting at. Finally, I just broke down and asked, "What are you getting at?"

"I think you have some serious issues with... well, with lesbianism."

Whether or not she was right, it stung. "Wow, that's pretty presumptuous of you, isn't it?"

"Sorry, it's just that- I mean, all this seems to have shaken you up but good, if you know what I'm saying. Like you think you did something illegal."

"It  _is_ illegal, in several states!"

"No, it isn't!" She sighed, leaning forward on her elbows. "I mean, sure, the marriage thing might not be doable, but if two people love each other, who cares what- what kind of plumbing they've got down in the basement?"

Despite all the tension and implications, we both had to giggle a little at that euphemism. "Nice metaphor, Ophelia," I chided.

"Yeah, okay," she admitted, still smiling. "But do you get what I'm saying? You wouldn't think any less of me if I were a, a full-blown dyke... would you? I- I hope you wouldn't."

"You sure felt like one in the subway," I said with a shudder. "Seriously, did TQ teach you how to kiss like that?"

"Well, I, um, I kinda took to it on my own," she said, her cheeks glowing like coals. "You... really thought I was that good?"

"Seriously, I'd much rather think about something else!" My eyes squeezed shut of their own accord. "All I'm saying is that TQ's a lucky guy... or was, or whatever."

"Maybe still is," she whispered; when I opened my eyes, her face had yet to grow cooler. "We might be able to patch things up, right? I never wanted him to think it was beyond hope."

"The ball's in your court."

"I guess so." She started to get up, then looked at me again. "But you avoided my question: you don't have a problem with... with me, do you?"

It was a loaded question; at the moment I had a  _big_ problem with it, being that I could see some of my lipstick on her lip. But I needed her to know I wasn't going to turn my back on her existence, so I hitched a weak smile into place. "We're good, sister."

She grinned before coughing. "Well, I guess I'll see you around town. G'night."

"Ophelia?"

She hesitated.

"Can you... can you stay with me a while? I- I really can't face being alone right now. God, I always feel so alone these days."

I think her lip actually quivered before she smiled warmly. "Sure; I can be friend-girl if you need me to be." This time, she sat down in the stool right next to me. "But if I'm playing that part, you- rgh, I hate to ask you to do it, though."

"What?"

She sighed, frowning. "You're gonna have to tell me the whole story; everything that happened between you and Sabrina. We can't keep dancing around it, or I'll keep making wrong assumptions - and last time I made out with you over one."

I nodded. "I guess you deserve to know, especially after our tonsil-hockey game... but first I have to ask, what happened to your knees?"

"Huh? Oh." She glanced down, rubbing one of them lightly. "Well, I pretty much had to dive out the subway doors before they closed; I almost didn't make it. And then where would you be? Sad  _and_ purseless."

Gotta say, that is one amazing girl.

"So... Sabrina?" she prodded when I didn't say anything due to shining admiration.

"Alright, alright, don't get your septum in a bunch. Let's go in and actually order some coffee, because this tale makes the Iliad and Odyssey look like a couple of pamphlets." I cleared my throat as we hopped off our seats and went inside. "Let's see - I guess it all goes back to this lame science project we had to do together..."

_END Chapter Nine_


	10. Libby In The Middle

Look out, dear readers: we're going into fast-forward mode again!

There's not a whole lot to tell about the rest of February. Well, there are things to touch on, but nothing vastly important happened... nothing worth recounting in detail, anyway. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times - it was the freakiest of times, and I felt like a golden thread myself, that's for sure.

School and work went on just fine, blah blah blah. Let's face it - no matter how interesting the story about the lobster truck, the hurdy-gurdy and the missing Palm Pilot is, that stuff is unimportant in the grand scheme of things, so I feel I ought to sum it up with "blah blah blah" and move on.

Mom? She and her new family up and left, evidently - without so much as a goodbye to anyone. I asked Dad, but he said they never called again or anything. It's almost funny; I was tensed up and ready to meet my mother head on when she tried to de-lesbify me, and as it turned out she didn't even care enough to talk to me about it. Goes to show how badly she wanted to work things out, huh? Man, do I loathe her with a passion.

Who don't I loathe? Ophelia. When I told her the unabridged story, she mostly listened and understood without doling out a bunch of potentially useless advice. Y'know, yeah, it would've been great if she could snap her fingers and put all the pieces of my life back together, but sometimes it's nice to have somebody who's just  _there_ for you... and once we got past our close encounter of the lurid kind, it was almost like it had never happened. So much so that before I knew it, I actually had a girlfriend - scratch that, "friend-girl" - in the city; somebody to hang out with, talk girl talk. Hell, any female companion would have been nice, but this girl... only Sabrina has a bigger heart. Adymm was one hundred per cent wrong about her.

Speaking of which - no, I didn't patch things up with Adymm. That, perhaps, is the saddest part of all this; we didn't talk for over  _two weeks!_  It amazed me how much I missed not having him there to touch, and to touch me. Don't get me wrong, I tried to reach out - maybe not as hard as I could have, but there was so much crawling around inside my head, everything demanding equal attention. It's not like he made the effort, either! Besides, you'd think talking would be unavoidable, what with band practice, not to mention those three gigs we played... but he always seemed to magically have to do something, or be somewhere else, or talk to someone else. Anyone but me.

Unlike us, though, Ophelia and TQ patched things up well enough; TQ groveled, Ophelia melted, and everything was in its right place. In a way, I was the "other people" she wanted to see, and we saw plenty of each other on the subway. Despite being a painful reminder of my own failure, it was somewhat reassuring to live vicariously through their relationship; in fact, she actually came to one of our practices, though she didn't do much but hang around and watch him play (or stare off into space).

Little did I know, in the midst of all this, how much more I was going to have to go through in a few short weeks...

There's one conversation I feel compelled to write down here before we get to that, though - from early March. There wasn't anything else special about that day, but Ophelia said something to me that got things moving in the right direction again...

* * *

"God, Keanu is desirable with a capital 'hot'!"

Ophelia nodded sagely. "You speak the gospel truth, my friend."

"Would you look at that ass... God  _damn,_  I wish Adymm were here!"

It didn't take very long before she opened her mouth to say something; then she bit her lip, her eyes flicked back and forth, and she turned back to the TV.

"What?"

She glanced at me sideways. "Nothing, just... you're going to have to tell him, you know."

I rolled my eyes, reaching for my mug of cocoa. "Not this again..."

"Libby," she sighed, "how can you not? All the poor guy wants is for you to let him in, and what do you do? Exactly the opposite!"

"Ophie..." It wasn't so much a nickname as a shortened version; think "Sophie" without the "S".

"I know, I know, none of my business."

"Glad we understand that. Now, let's just watch the movie."

We returned our attention to "The Matrix" (not MY choice, I assure you), and we soaked up a good two minutes before I blurted, "C'mon, I can't!"

"What?" she asked distractedly as she dug into the popcorn.

"I can't tell Adymm everything! What about you and me? If I tell him about me and Sabrina, I have to tell him about... well, you know."

Her hand had stopped halfway to her mouth. "Oh. Y-yeah, I guess so. But, um... I think I'd be okay with that."

"Really? I mean, you don't care if he finds out we-"

"That's not what I said," she laughed - a very nervy laugh, at that. "It scares the hell outta me, being like, really, truly exposed, but... I could deal. Meanwhile, I do get that you can't, and it's okay if you're not ready. There's just..."

When she didn't finish, I paused the DVD. "What is it? Speak, young woman."

She let out a long, gusty sigh before turning to face me properly, legs folding under her. "This is gonna sound really,  _really_ mean, and I've been trying not to say anything. But you have to know I only wanna help, right?"

"You're always trying to help. You're like Smokey The Bear that way."

She gave me a really funny look before shaking her emerald head out. "Whatever. Anyway, the thing is... I get not being ready to spill, I do. The only problem is, you don't have an infinite amount of time to lay your cards on the table before your poker pal checks outta the casino."

"I'm not exactly following - are you saying I should challenge Adymm to five-card stud?"

"Stop making fun of my analogies!" she growled playfully, throwing a pillow at me. "What I'm trying to say here is... you have to tell him  _soon,_  'cos if you don't, he may not keep waiting for you."

My eyebrows knitted. "What... what are you saying? Ophelia, I- I don't wanna lose him."

"C'mon," she said simply, "you have to know it's true; he won't keep waiting around for you to bridge that gap. Sooner or later, he's going to write off your relationship as a failure and try to move on, so if I were you-"

"No, no, I get what you're saying now." But that didn't mean I'd fully absorbed it, even though I restarted the movie and pretended like I had.

Adymm might leave me? Whatever you might think of my poor little brain for it, that possibility actually hadn't yet occurred to me; I guess I thought he'd simply go on waiting for me to apologise, or give him the Westbridge lowdown, or whatever he was waiting for. The very idea that I could lose him forever - or, worse yet, that he might find somebody else - tore me apart, picked me up and shook me to the core of my being. That simply would not do, y'know?

So I devised a plan - an evil plan, both underhanded and genius. And it was going to take careful consideration if I was going to pull it off.

* * *

It was dark in TQ's dad's garage; I shifted uncomfortably. Would he come? My fingers stung from the hot wax, and I kept sticking them in my mouth to cool the burning. It was taking a while for him to get there - then again, he was always as late to practice as he could manage these days. To avoid me, talking to me. Well, maybe he wouldn't - not this time.

"Guys?" I heard his voice echoing. "Hello, is anybody here?" A few seconds of silence - then footfalls on concrete. "Jesus, it's dark as a crypt in here - did Mr. Q forget to pay the light bill again?" Just as he rounded the corner of a LeSabre, he was saying, "Is anybody even back h-"

He stopped short as I said, "Just you and me."

I could see his eyes move from my face to the bottle of wine next to me, and from there to the hundred or so candles flickering, to the boombox on the hood of a Chrysler playing moody jazz... and finally, to the red lace teddy I was (barely) wearing.

"Wha- uh, what is this?" he stuttered, eyes fixed quite below my face.

"Whatever you want it to be," I said, hoping I had succeeded in making my voice as husky as possible.

He caught himself, shaking his head and staring deliberately away from me. "I don't want it to be anything. If we're not having practice, then I'll-"

"Stop."

He did. I got up, and again his eyes were following my hips as they swayed toward him. "You're not going anywhere. No matter what happens next, you're staying right here with me, Mr Koriander."

"Uh, but we, uh-"

"Shh." I laid a finger on his lips, staring into his eyes. "Words are very unnecessary."

_END Chapter Ten_


	11. Freak Attractors

"No, they're not!"

He shoved my hand away, trying not to look at me again.

"Adymm-"

"You're not gonna do this," he said, his voice shaking. "You can't just... just seduce me into forgiving you. I'm not that easy to manipulate, and you oughtta know that."

I sighed, folding my arms over my nearly-bare chest. "Well, gee, I sure feel sexy now."

"Libby!"

"I'm trying, okay?" With an unbidden sniffle, I walked over to one of the folding chairs and grabbed up the silk robe I had brought, just in case of... well, this. "You haven't been listening, so I thought I had to do something to  _make_ you listen."

"Well, maybe I'm not ready to," he muttered. "Maybe what you've done hurts too much."

"Can you at least tell me what-"

"You shut me out. Happy? You shut me out, and when I tried to get you to let me in, you told me your life was none of my business." He shrugged, dropping his guitar case to the ground. "What am I supposed to think of that? You wanted space, and you got it - so why are you complaining?"

"I didn't want space - not from you! All I wanted was for you to respect that- that I'm not ready to talk about it!" My voice dropped. "It... still hurts too much, it's too confusing."

"Dammit, Libby, what did they  _do_ to you?!" he shouted, suddenly grabbing me by the upper arms. "Jesus, I feel like there's somebody who's ass I should be kicking, except you won't even tell me who it is!"

"Adymm-"

"You keep saying it's too painful to talk about, but it seems to me that's  _exactly_ why you  _should_ be talking to me!"

"Adymm, you're hurting me!"

He blinked, looked down at his hands, and let me go. "I- I'm sorry. It just pisses me off so bad to think that..."

I let him have a moment to broil while I rubbed the handprints he undoubtedly left in my flesh. Wow, I had never seen him like that! When his mouth kept moving soundlessly, I prodded, "What? God, what about this is making you so angry?" And his eyes looked deep into mine, willing me to connect firmly with his next thought.

"You're in pain, and - and as far as I know, I can't do anything about it. What kind of boyfriend am I?"

I almost laughed. I swear, I did - it would have been totally the wrong thing, and I would've had to commit seppuku (as mother dearest now calls it), but that was my knee-jerk reaction. Meanwhile, he had turned away so he wouldn't have to look me - and truth - in the eye.

"Oh, Adymm..."

"What?"

"I'm so sorry." And I hugged him from behind. "You shouldn't have to think you're useless - actually, I needed you more than you knew."

"How do you mean?"

"For support!" I let go and sat down, and he followed suit. "So maybe I couldn't tell you what happened, but... I told you  _something_ happened, and I- I needed you there. To tell me it would be okay, to hold me when I felt extra-crappy. To not let it get the better of me."

"Even though I don't know what it is?"

"Yes," I said adamantly. "Even if I never told you for the rest of my life. Saying it out loud, I realise that what I'm asking is... well, huge, but it's what I needed, what I need now." I sighed, looking down at my "slutty" heels. "At the same time, it's all my fault for not saying this before - for expecting you to be my silent pillar of support without being given a reason. I'm really sorry about that."

He shook his head, hands running through his spiky blue hair. "You're still not going to tell me, are you?"

This broke my heart - it really did, you know. Fact is, even if I were ready for this conversation, this was not the time or place for it. "Afraid not - not yet, anyway. But I will, when I can, and you have to trust that."

"Does... anyone else know?"

Oops. "Uhh... no?" When I sensed impending doom, I hurriedly amended, "Okay, Ophelia, but only because she found out on her own! Seriously, I would have told you  _looooong_ before I told her!"

A slow nod. "So Ophelia knows. That's great, that's really friggin' great. Who else?"

"People involved," I said quietly. "They're all back in... in Westbridge, of course." By now, I could feel the hot streams rolling down my cheeks. "Adymm, please, it's hard enough talking about it this much, I- I really can't do any more right now, okay?"

"Why can't I know?" he demanded, the anger rising in his voice again. "What is it about me you don't trust with whatever this is? If there's something I've done that makes-"

 _"FUCK,_  Adymm, this is  _NOT ABOUT YOU!"_  After a few seconds of heavy breathing, it occurred to me that I had shot to my feet screaming - it didn't even register while it was happening. When he looked up at me in fear, I started crying again, and my voice was slowly starting to break apart. "This is about  _me,_ okay?! I am not ready to talk about this - at all! With anyone! It has nothing to do with you other than that I need you, dammit! Please, why can't you just hold me?!"

And he was.

* * *

So you and I both know I told a little white lie. It's not exactly true that I wasn't ready to talk about it with anyone, because I had told Ophelia; of course, she kind of figured out enough of it by herself that it wouldn't matter much if I filled in the rest of the blanks, but I did it of my own free will. Gimme a break, alright? I didn't need him thinking I wasn't telling him because he's my boyfriend... even though it was pretty high on the list of reasons not to go spouting off about it.

How would  _you_ react if you heard your significant other had become a switch-hitter? See, from what I understand (okay, from what I Googled), the term "switch-hitter" means an ambidextrous baseball player, just so you don't think I'm throwing around words I don't understand. Well, it seems to accurately describe what I've been accidentally doing lately - kissing people of either gender. Personally, if I found out Adymm was walking around smooching boys, I'd probably flip out and kill people - how could I expect his reaction to be any more mild?

But even though I had talked to Ophelia about it that once, we avoided the subject if we could - it was too sensitive a spot, and I hadn't had time to make my peace with it yet. Not that I didn't think about it every day, but most of my brainpower was spent going, "Ew, how disgusting!", or "Damn, how does that keep happening?", so I never got around to "Why was Ophelia attracted to me in the first place?" and "Was it really the drugs making me lay some sugar on Sabrina?" Those questions were too big for my poor head.

Other than that, life got on with itself normally for about a week, and for the first time in a long time, things actually felt- maybe not perfect, but good. Like, life wasn't trouncing me on a daily basis, y'know? In fact, me, Adymm, Ophelia and TQ did a double-date thing at some Grecian place; it was different, but fun. Ophelia kept giving me knowing glances when Adymm would rub my shoulder or something, and I'd get all red in the face...

Work? Fine, except I almost got fired for being twenty minutes late one day - Adymm and I couldn't tear ourselves away from each other. School? Nothing to report, there; I wasn't doing as great as I could've been in Algebra, but... duh? And the band was doing better than ever now that all the unhealthy tension had disappated; two sets that week went off without a hitch, and we even got cheered to an encore at one of them. Once after practice, when Adymm and I were holding hands, I saw Greg give me the thumbs-up; I tried not to grin sheepishly, but how could I resist? We had played the country song backwards, and I had my life back. Times are good when you're in love.

* * *

The story  _should_ end here. You agree, don't you? It would be beautiful, and simple, and perfect. But such is not my life, and I'm telling you for the last time: take this happy ending and be done with it, because if you go any further, there's only more misery, drama and psychological torture in store... and most of it's going to be very hard to write about. To be blunt, I'd rather just forget a lot of the God-awful crap I'm about to chronicle if that tells you anything.

As for the rest of you masochists... you're welcome to keep going.

* * *

"Dad? Dad, I'm home!" Sighing contentedly, I dropped my purse by the coatrack and threw my jacket on one of the pegs. "Sorry I missed our brunch date, but Adymm surprised me with- hello?" Sensing he wasn't home, I walked into the kitchen, then back into the living room. "Hmmh. Dad? Are you back there in your room? You know, it's very rude of y-"

The room disappeared; what happened to the lights? After a second's surprise and a shocked yelp, I felt the flesh and sweat ( _ewwww!_ ) of two pairs of hands covering the upper half of my face.

"Oh, yeah, very funny, Dad. What are you, five? Now cut it out."

No answer.

"Adymm? You didn't follow me up, did you? If you didn't want me to go..."

No answer; about that time, it struck me that the hands were too small for either of them. I tried to spin around fast enough so whoever it was wouldn't be able to keep up, but they were too quick for that. And did I smell perfume?

"Okay, Ophie, this is no longer funny. Do you want me to kick your ass?"

"Didja miss us?"

"Yeah,  _did_ you miss us?"

Why were there  _two_ voices? I thought I recognised them, too, but- and suddenly my vision was returned to me, and I could see Roxie King, black hair falling almost to her hips - which her hands were on at the moment - grinning at me.

"Hey there, Cheerless! What's new in New York?"

"Don't tell me." I was trying to catch my breath, even though my stomach sinking lower and lower kept distracting me. "Let me guess..."

For the second and perhaps last time in my life, I experienced one of those slow turns that seem to last an eternity. 'No,' I thought. 'Not her, not now - now that my life is back on track, now that Adymm and I are okay and nothing odious is happening to me! Why, why now?!' It was so obviously too late, but every fiber of my being continued to cling to the notion that it wasn't happening, that what I knew as fact was merely erroneous speculation, and that things were going to be normal for once.

Then I was nose to nose with Sabrina Spellman, and my life was turned on its ear yet again.

_Not Quite The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAND this about does it for A Thread Breaking! Join us next time, when we cook midgets in hollandaise - no, err, that is, when things and stuff happens! Sleep is my friend, I go now to greet it warmly.
> 
> In all seriousness, I know it was short. Swords & Axes was short. Both that and this could have been much, much longer, because for whatever reason I feel such a strong connection to Libby's character that I could probably belt out an eleven-book series about her and die writing a twelfth :cough: Robert Jordan :cough:, but I wanted to spend as little time as possible on the stretches where Sabrina is not present. This is a Sabrina fanfiction, after all.
> 
> That said, Libby meeting Ophelia was one of my favourite scenes to write thus far in the Cheerless saga; from the restaurant, to the steamy subway scene, to the decent conversational bits after all that. And her mum showing up (and throwing up) was a stroke of genius, even if I do say so myself (and I usually won't). Hopefully I can tap into more of that golden vein for the future installments.
> 
> Speaking of which, heed this well: from now on, I'm switching the rating to "M". For the uninitiated, you'll be needing to reset the site's search parameters to show Sabrina stories of ALL ratings (or add me to your Author Alert list) to find part V. And yes, you should have known by now there WILL be a part V - for there is still far, far more to come.
> 
> Until then, stay frosty!  
> -Jessex

**Author's Note:**

> Libby, Sabrina, et al. are © Hartbreak / Paramount / Whatever.  
> Adymm, the members of In Absinthia, and this work of fiction are ©2008 myself.
> 
> CHEERLESS IV: A NEW HOPE  
> It is a period of civil war. The Rebels were defending the Lylat System when - oh, what? Stop doing that? Sorry, that's not what kind of story this is, I'd wager! Yes, I have gone 'round the twist, thank you for noticing - but don't you like my frilly pink cocktail dress?! I made it myself out of chewing gum wrappers!
> 
> Anyway, welcome to Cheerless IV, and yes, there's more intrigue and mayhem to come. The Fighting Scallions are getting older, having to deal with more adult things. If you're wondering whether or not the "Cheerless Again" connotates that this will be similar to "A Cheerless Interlude" in that Sabrina will be largely absent, you would be right; it's once again Libby's solo adventures for the nonce. Don't worry, that witchy woman shall be back (obviously, or there'd be little point). For now - on with the show!


End file.
